


Nightshade

by CrawleyHouse



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:54:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27934198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrawleyHouse/pseuds/CrawleyHouse
Summary: A little drabble set to take a look at how our favourite leaders take their falls from grace.Inspired by Nightshade -  The Lumineers.
Kudos: 3





	Nightshade

**Author's Note:**

> New Caprica: 5 weeks under Occupation

She had not been surprised when they came for her only that it had taken so long.

Long enough to watch them disappear; one by one.

Captain Thrace had been first.

Vanishing so silently and so completely it was as if she’d never been there at all. Then, it had been a handful of men she only knew by sight. Wrangled away from the field by the market in a skirmish that barely contained itself from becoming a brawl.

Colonel Tigh had been next.

An abandoned walking stick the only indicator that he had had every intention of returning home. Almost lost to the mud if it had not been for Chief Tyrol… The Chief, who had disappeared in the night, only to reemerge weeks later and have Anders take his place.

Then it had been her turn.

If they had hoped to scare her in the dead of night, well… they didn’t know how poorly she slept.

What they actually wanted was anybody’s guess.

The first few blows woke her like a shock to her system before they blurred into the same, dull and vague monotony that followed any acute and persistent pain. They liked to take turns, some more reluctantly than others, but they were always careful to leave her face. After all, what good was a public execution if you couldn’t recognize the victim.

It was only after a stray backhand had split her lip that anyone had actually spoken to her at all.

If she had stood, he was shorter than her, just by a breath, but his menace filled the space like a man twice his size. Amplified only by the rasp of a metal chair dragged across the rough concrete before jarring to rest in a hard clang before her feet.

She blinked lazily, watching his mouth soundlessly form around words. She wondered if he had practiced. It took a little while to focus, not that she was particularly interested in what he had to say, but his posture signaled that it was important, and his unwavering eye-contact indicated that she should listen.

“- to lift their spirits and assure them of the legitimacy of this-”

“Occupation.” She heard her own voice cut through the cell. Though hoarse from disuse, she took pride that it did not waver and sat up a little straighter.

“Alliance.” He bit back sharply. The word hissing through clenched teeth.

“Gaius Baltar…” she started and swallowed down what little moisture her mouth could offer, “won the democratic, presidential election by popular vote. If he is finding the weight of that office a little heavy in a time of crisis, he would find that my sympathy is limited at _best_.”

He snickered at the feral curve of her lip.

“Let us say that Gaius Baltar has outlived his popularity and his usefulness… So, I guess sympathies are scarce all ‘round.”

The Cavil stood and handed his chair to the hooded guard at his shoulder. The man made no move to lift his gaze from the blood-stained floor. His new NCP patch catching in the glare as he shuffled away.

Cavil scuffed a toe absently against a large, dark stain that had been there longer than she had.

“Think about it.” And she started despite herself as the heavy door slammed. The bolt reverberating through the hall outside with a grim finality.

Laura wrapped her arms around her knees a little tighter and shut her eyes against the piercing light.

It was strange: how far away Caprica felt now. When even the thought of a quiet moment alone to weep, or at least drink, was nothing more than memory and dust. Any semblance of home scattered to the stars. Not even the warm sensation of Caprican carpet under her feet, worn pages between her fingers, had survived the mud.

Lost. Luxuries, all.

Maybe she had grown hard, even cold, but difficult decisions just didn’t feel quite so heavy anymore. Not now, when they offered themselves up as gifts. As an unburdening of her soul.

She breathed deep and slow through her nose and tipped her head against the icy concrete. She didn’t need to think about it.

_I swore an oath and with my life I will pay._


End file.
